Up in the Air
by Alex of Light
Summary: In the months before the Recall, Jesse McCree is doing what he knows best. Dispensing justice where ever he goes, namely to those who fly the colors of Talon and Deadlock. Though he is talented himself, Jesse needs a bit of help and calls in a mysterious mercenary know as the 'Crow'. Hard tellin' how things'll play out, specially when one's been alone fer so long. McCree X OMC


**Up in the Air**

 **I**

 **Man of the Skies**

 **A/N: Don't look at me, I was bored. But in all honesty, I have a thing for McCree and I thought I'd take advantage of the lack of a canon timeline and events (minus the comics and animated shorts) and see how badly the Overwatch fandom will attack me for making yet another gay McCree fic, if at all. Seriously, there are some people in the fandom that need to chill about ships and sexual orientations since there isn't much the go off of. Gives me a lot of freedom to do what ever the heck I want though, so it's win-win. Welp! I hope you guys enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: Overwatch is owned by Blizzard Entertainment. I do not own any other mentioned properties.**

Night had just began to fall when a strangely dressed man had walked into the bar that almost everyone in town avoided in fear of the Deadlock gang. He had equiped himself with a four piece armor set (sleek pauldrons, bracers, greaves, and a chestplate with a peculilar symbol etched into the right breast) which almost complemented the dark clothes he wore underneath. There was an oddly shaped sheath hung from the back of his belt so that it bounced ever so slightly with the flowing, pointed tails of his coat as he walked. The oddest thing about him were his piercing grey eyes that seemed to glow as they peered out from underneath a tattered, peaked hood. Reminded Jesse of the wondering mercenaries from Rein's old movies about medieval knights. Strange sight in the year 2067, not that he had any room to speak dressed as a goddamn cowboy.

The man stopped underneath one of the bar's many hanging lights, appearing to be looking for a place to sit. During his search, the light chased away the hood's shadow and Jesse had a moment to take in the stranger's face. He was clean-shaven, odd against the scruffy clientel. He had lips that were fuller than you'd usually see on a man, strong cheekbones, and a proud nose. There was a cresant shaped scar on the outside of his right eye, and if it wasn't for them, he would almost look innocent and naive. But those grey orbs told McCree that this man had seen his fair share of heated scuffles. When he started moving again, it was very apparent that Jesse wasn't the only one watching this man. The cowboy assumed that he knew that he was being observed by the more suspicious of the bar's patrons, but he looked as though he could care less about the dirty looks he was getting. He made his way for the empty stool beside McCree, being the only color among the sea of black and grey.

He ordered a beer as soon as he was seated at the bar counter, sounding a bit tired. Recieving his amber colored drink, Jesse decided he'd try to strike up a conversation. "Thought a guy like you would want something stronger than that watered down piss," he jested, earning a nasty look from the bartender.

With an amused scoff, "I would if I could, but it's a school night," he joked back, sounding relieved to find another friendly personality in this scumy pit.

"Finally, someone with a sense of humor," cheered McCree, "Name's McCree."

"Kingsley," said the man, "Robert Kingsley."

Shaking the hand he was offered, "Jesse," introducing himself in full. "So Rob, what brings ya out this way," asked McCree with a slight note of caution, testing what he could get away with.

"Passing through on a job, thought I'd have a drink and a bit of excitement before I settle for the night," Robert answered, shifting his weight so he could more comfortably converse with the cowboy. The movement caused his hood of burnt umber to be pulled back slightly, unknowingly giving McCree a better view of his face. It became obvious to him that Robert, whatever his profession, liked to keep himself well groomed. It gave him a slight air of refinement next to McCree's scruffy appearance.

"Whatta ya know, so am I," chuckled Jesse, "So whatta ya do fer a livin'?"

At that moment, there was a scraping of several chairs as their occupants all stood up at once. It almost went unnoticed due to the country music playing loudly from a jukebox. Kingsley had noticed too, saying, almost seductively with a voice of liquid smoke, "Why don't I just show you what I do," standing with his bottle, "But a show requires the right music, let's fix that shall we," he finished with a fox-like smirk. Well aware he had peaked the cowboy's curiousity and was being watched closely by several pairs of eyes as he sauntered over to the machine. It was almost like he had ignored the Deadlock member that had followed him before asking in a amused voice, "Any requests," as he flipped through sixty-year-old titles.

"Yeah, how's 'bout you and yer buddy amscray and we don't hurt ya," placing a hand on his pistol.

Selecting a song, it began to play as he said in time with the vocalist, "Nah, I'd rather. Hit! That! Snare!" Smashing the beer bottle into his assailents head as a guitar riff started to blast from the speakers.

So began the show, Robert sprung into a backflip, pulling his weapon from it's sheath. There were three distinctive bangs of a firearm (magnum rounds by Jesse's rekoning) that sounded from it as he seemed to slow down mid-flip to shoot a few more of the gang members. Landing on a table, his oddly shaped gun unfolded itself, pushing out the blade of a sword on two saw arms. "Who's up for a bit of fencing, eh lads," he challenged. Almost the entire bar stood in response, bad news for Rob in Jesse's opinion. He was about to stand to help, but the man shot him a hard look, one that he knew well. This was his show and there wasn't room for one more. So the cowboy sat back and watched him literally spring into action, taking down six more of the Deadlock's ranks in a matter of seconds. His movements flowed gracefully from firing rounds to swift, concise swordplay that was offset by the cold, hard expression on his face as he flew like a bird of prey in a maelstrom of panicing sparrows. _Bad comparison,_ thought McCree, another old memory bubbleing to the surface, this one not so pleasant this time. _I wonder if he ever found tha' peace he was lookin' fer?_ By the song's end, he had just shot the last conscious menber in the chest to punctuate the end of the battle. His head snapped in Jesse's direction when the man let out a low whistle.

"Color me impressed," praised Jesse, though regretably.

Gaze softening, "You did call me in to see if I could handle this job, did you not," asked Robert, dropping some of the unfamiliar facade.

"That I did an' ya didn't disappoint," responded the cowboy, "So those rumors about the 'Ruthless Crow' were true after all. Yer really somethin'."

"I try," he said, offering a small smile, "But we should leave soon, before the police show up," dropping the fleeting feeling as he looked upon his mess. "I assume you've set up a place to lay low for the night, since you did set up this little excursion."

"Don't'chu worry yer pretty little head 'bout that," chirped the cowboy, "Can't leave jus' yet," standing, taking his glass of whiskey with him. "He'll be able t' tell us where we be headin' next." Splashin the face of Robert' first/luckiest victim, McCree pulled Peacekeeper from its holster and pointed its muzzle between the spluttering man's eyes. "So this is how this is gonna go," speaking in a low voice, far more threatening than his usual tone, "either ya die here or," shifting his aim to the man's leg, "ya tell us where the rest of yer hidey holes are and ya can rot in a comfy cell fer the rest 'f yer miserable life. Yer choice."

Sweating as he thought, the Deadlock didn't have much room to get out of this one, alive at least. As he weighed his options, Rob grabbed a bottle of rum from behind the counter, made a slight 'hmm' noise before cracking it open and taking a swig. He leaned against the wall next to the windows, Jesse assumed that he was keeping watch for trouble. "Alright," said the Deadlock, "I'll tell ya what I know."

What he knew wasn't all that much, but it was enough for McCree to get a decent start in his one-man war against Deadlock. Two-man if he decided he wanted to keep Rob around, convince him to stay on for free instead of calling him in everytime he was in a tight jam. That wouldn't be a problem, Jesse prides himself for his many forms of persuasion. The only hurdle that may prove to be too high for him would be finding the right approach: brute force, intimidation, bold and demanding, mutual benefits, traveling companion, or (dare he go that far) make for the lover option. Pehaps the first few were not the best choices, judging from the mess Kingsley had single-handedly made around him. Better that the cowboy think carefully if he really wanted someone this dangerous around and if he could handle him. There was so much he didn't know about the mysterious mercenary, nothing gleamed though word of mouth could compare to what Jesse had witnessed just with his combat abilities. But there was something about Robert that somehow felt like he was a good man, pehaps it was just how he reminded the cowboy of his old commanding officer. There was a wary watchfulness about his eyes that hid behind his calm, relaxed demeanor that felt... eerily dangerous.

His business concluded, McCree knocked him out with the butt of his pistol to keep him from running before the police had a chance to arrest him. Far more merciful than Robert may have been, he had a feeling that he didn't care much what happened to someone who joined such a guild as Deadlock. Just one more thing to put the cowboy further on guard around his business partner. Leaving the man to his 'sleep,' Jesse turned to see that Kingsley had been watching him, probably throughout the entire exchange. He wore a curious expression, as though he were analyzing the cowboy for something only he known to the mercenary. Seemingly coming to a conclusion, he silently offered the bottle to McCree and said, "You said you had somewhere for us to hunker down before the cops started to show up."

"Whatta ya mean started t'..." at that moment, the flashing of red and blue lights passed through the bar's grimmy windows. "Aw hell, run fer it," groaned Jesse, making for the back, pulling the nonplussed man by the arm with his mechanical one.

"They've surely have men covering the back door too," he said casually, still unpeturbed by their predicument as he took another swig of rum.

"Dammit," cursed McCree, "then how do we get outta here? You seem t' have an idea."

"I may," he said with a raised eyebrow, pulling his gun-sword out and aiming at the ceiling for a moment, "You might need these and you should cover your ears."

He pulled a pair of sunglasses from a pocket inside his coat and handed them to McCree as he fiddled with something on his gun-sword. Gunblade? Jesse wasn't sure what to call it, but he did do what he was asked. Unsure of what Kingsley was planning, but he was assured by the man's confidence in his strange statagy. Taken back by his sudden embrace, McCree had no time to protest before Robert aimed his gun at the ceiling and shoated something insulting to the cops he could barely process before the trigger was pulled.

There was a collosal bang and an almost blinding flash (that Jesse was protected from) before they were hoisted up into the crashing wreckage that once was a solid roof. It was only once they wer clear of the sufficating smoke did McCree realize that they were flying; and more over, it was by Rob's doing as he felt that it was the man's strong arm that kept him from abiding the laws of gravity. Holding on to his hat for dear life, the cowboy's eyes were wide in a silent scream as he watched roads and rooftops pass under them like the water under a bridge, coming too close for comfort as they dipped lower as Kingsley got a more sure grip on his charge. Jesse could only figure that he was not used to carring more than himself through the sky. In fact, they were descending and fast as the Crow could only grunt in his ear to bend his knees and be ready to keep running.

Again, McCree did as he was told and braced for the impact. Robert was able to slow them down to soften the transition from air to ground so that it almost felt like second nature for him. When Jesse had sprung up from his roll to keep the momentum going, his partner was already running ahead of him, his head swiveling from side to side for signs of trouble as stray cats scattered from their path. As they continued their retreat, McCree could hear the Crow's panting grow louder and heavier with each passing building as his hood kept shifting from left to right like he was desperately searching for something important.

Without so much as a heads up, Robert darted to the right sharply, causing Jesse to slip and skid to keep chase, and slid to stop in front of a pile of discarded things that wasn't that out of place from their surroundings. His hands plunged into it, searching haphazardly before withdrawing a rucksack. Finally looking back to McCree for the first time since they left the bar. Jesse was astounded by what he saw, he was incredibly pale, panting harder than ever and shaking from the effort of staying conscious, painting a picture completely different than the one of control and power he had done only a few minutes ago. "You said that.. that you had a.. a place to rest," he asked quietly, forcing the words through frantic breaths.

He tried to stand, only to stagger into Jesse, who caught him as said, "Yea, it jus' over yonder," his usual swagger lost when he found concern.

"Thank. God," Kingsley uttered, relying more and more on the cowboy to remain upright as he guided them slowly to a rundown, outdated motel.

By the time Jesse unlocks the door, Robert was whiter than a sheet of ice as blood began to drip from his nose. He seemed to be aware of it as he grinned weakly, saying as he was set into a bed, "Looks like I over did it, huh?"

Kingsley was slowly rumaging through his pack as McCree began rattling off his thoughts. "Over did it," he said in exausperation, the smooth cowboy persona long gone, "Let's see, you took on a whole bar by yerself, somehow yer still breathin', ya blew a hole in the Goddamn place, somehow blinded the cops, and, let's not forget, ya can fuckin' fly! Over did it doesn't cover it, ya burnt the whole Goddamn place an' pissed on the ashes! Is there anythin' I'm missin' here," he said in a flurry of anger, confusion, and desperation for answers. "Just what the hell are you?!"

Robert was rather pensive for a moment, calculating the chances of Jesse either attacking or leaving him to fend for himself. The name 'Crow' was truely fitting for this man in McCree's opinion, everything about him was shrowded in the dark and screamed dangerous from the corner he had been backed into. When he spoke, he made his stance known as his voice cut across the short distance with forced formality, "I thought that we had agreed upon no personal questions and keeping this strictly business." He glared at McCree, as though challenging him to a head on fight that he knew he could not win.

Pulling Peacekeeper from his holster, the cowboy took aim, cocking the hammer again. "That changed the moment ya tore through that roof like it were nothin'. Now I ain't gonna ask ya again, what the hell do you think you are?"

"Go ahead," goaded Crow, "pull the trigger. You'll be doing me a favor and you'll be in this alone, without answers. You need my help and you know it. No one man army ever lasts." He stared him down as he shakily grasped the barrel of the pistol and layed his head against the muzzle. "Go on, do it then," he husked.

The two men continue to keep their eyes locked as the silence grew thick in the air. Jesse couldn't find any fear in those silver orbs, no, all he could see was the remnants of a man that had been broked years ago only to come back like a bat out of hell. He surpressed a shiver, cursing, "Dammit boy," as he yanked the gun out of his weak grip and turned away from his gaze as he put it back in its place on his hip.

"Is that all," Robert asked, almost as if berating him if it wasn't for amusement lurking deep within his voice as he called him out.

"Shit," he cursed again, glancing at the man, "Ya've got some serious balls fer someone so young."

"Perhaps," he commented off-handedly, no longer looking at the cowboy as though he was assured of some assumption he had made. "I hope we can continue on with out deal, it's best to keep personal and business matters seperate."

"I guess ya gotta point there."

"Although," he added, pulling what looked like a med pack from his belongings. "If one of us were to reveal an aspect of ourselves willingly or in passing, without follow ups, I would have no qualms with it. It is also impossible to not learn something about your business parters, as you saw tonight."

Jesse snorted, "Tch, yeah right! First ya don't want me t' learn anythin' then ya go an' say somethin' like that. Are ya gonna jerk me around like this all the time?"

"That's entirely up to you, isn't it," smirked the Crow, "Do you like it when I 'jerk you around'?"

"Hell no! I mean...gah," sputtered Jesse, "Ya know what I mean!" He could feel his face getting warm, crossing his arms as he turned away from a snickering Robert who found it amusing how he was able to trip over himself both figuretively and literally.

"Quite," still amused, pehaps too much so.

"Shut it," growled McCree, using his hat to avoid looking at the man in the eye.

But Kingsley had returned his attention to the increasingly curious object in his hand. It didn't glow bright blue like normal medpacks, in fact, it barely made any light besides what reflected of it. Jesse noticed the gleam of a needle at the end of the cyndrical container. _Every man has his vices,_ suposed McCree mentally. Not wanting to repeat the conversation, he pulled the remains of his cigar that he had been smoking earlier and relit it. He turned from Robert and made for the door, wanting to give him some privacy and cool off a bit. He almost made it, failing to resist the urge to turn back when he heard the sharp intake of breath that signaled that the needle had penatrated the skin. From the corner of his eye, Jesse watched in silent amazement as color quickly retruned to his skin, spreading like water from the point of entry. Though he seem to be relieved, Robert kept his eyes shut tight. When they opened, McCree could have sworn that there was something black retreating from the silver into the edges of them. When he blinked in the next instant, it was gone and his eyes shown just as bright as they were back in the bar. Who was Jesse to question this some weird, optic phenomenon with his own dead-eye.

Robert took a deep breath and shuddered, as though shaking off bad luck, uttering under his breath something that McCree couldn't quite hear. Something of ill will as he placed the vial carefull back into the ruck sack. In its place he pulled a pack of cigarettes and Jesse snorted when he recognized the brand. He paused as as he looked at the cowboy with an unlit cancer stick in his mouth, silently questioning the outburst.

"Really," asked Jesse, "Camels? And filters at that!"

"Its what my parents used to smoke," he responded, lighting up with a lighter hidden away in his grip. Taking a deep drag, he added, "If you've got a problem with it you can kindly get fucked."

Now it was McCree's turn to laugh, that last comment was so unexpected that it was all he could do. It was short lived as he began to mull over what the rest of it ment. _Used to,_ he thought to himself, _does that mean they quit or they're jus' gone?_ But Jesse just shrugged it off, something that will soon become habit when dealing whith Robert, and got on with his own rituals for the night. Maybe he'd find sleep faster with a friendly nearby.

~ 5:42 a.m. MST ~

Jesse woke with a jolt, the remnants of an old nightmare still taunting him in his increasingly alert consciousness. As weak beams of sunlight shot across the room, he took stock of everything and found everything the way he had left it; except one thing. He found Robert hunched over, asleep in a corner with his strange firearm cradled in his grip. So there was two more things that McCree learned that morning. One, he wasn't the only one who had trouble sleeping and two, Robert's hair was the prettiest color red he'd ever seen.

 **And so concludes this chapter. Please leave a review about what you think, whether it be praise, constructive criticism, or just general thoughts. I just want to hear what you guys think. I'll see you when I see ya!**


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